


Falling, With Style

by tryslora



Series: A Kind of Magic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bruises, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Falling off a Broom, Fluff, Gen, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Teen Wolf Goes to Hogwarts, Teen Wolf Plays Quidditch, Totally Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott wants to try out for Quidditch and he wants Stiles to try out with him. So what if Stiles has only been on a broom once in his life before now, and the Captain of the team is one of the biggest kids he’s ever seen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling, With Style

**Author's Note:**

> I promised no angst for once, and hereby try to deliver!! And really, who can resist the idea of the Teen Wolf cast at Hogwarts? Hopefully there will be more of these in the future (If you want updates, please subscribe to the series "A Kind of Magic"). Also, Teen Wolf is not owned by me (wish it was!), and same with Harry Potter. This is absolutely unbetaed, so all errors are mine!
> 
> This was originally written for Prompt #3 - Bruises at fullmoon_ficlet on Livejournal.

“Stiles!” 

They’ve been at Hogwarts for a month now, and Stiles still grins every time Scott yells his name across the Great Hall. This is all _new_ to Stiles. _New_ and _amazing_ and _exciting_ , and the best part is that Scott’s lived in this world his whole life but he’s just as excited as Stiles.

“What is it?” Stiles nudges over on the bench to make room between himself and one of the first year girls, an unassuming quiet blonde. He should remember her name, but she’s so quiet he keeps forgetting and there is _so much_ else to know.

Scott doesn’t bother to sit, instead grabbing onto Stiles’s shoulder and tugging. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“For what?”

“Quidditch tryouts!”

“Wait, what?” Stiles’s head is spinning as he hurries along in Scott’s wake, trying not to trip over his robes. “Quidditch? That’s the thing with the brooms, right? And the balls? And the things that try to hit you when you’re busy trying not to fall off a broom?” He waves his hands in a vague approximation of the movement he remembers from the figures swooping on the poster over Scott’s bed.

People _swoop_ on a _poster_. Being magical is _brilliant_.

“I want to be a Chaser,” Scott says. “The Captain for Gryffindor is brilliant. I’m good but I don’t know if I’m good enough. You’ll try out with me, won’t you?”

“I’ve flown once,” Stiles protests. “I could barely stay on a broom.” But he knows that he’d do anything for Scott.

“You’ll be fine. You can borrow one of the brooms from the shed.” 

They run across the lawn, following a crowd of students wearing Gryffindor and Slytherin robes down to the pitch. Scott talks the whole way there, but Stiles isn’t sure he catches all of it. There’s something about Derek Hale being a fifth year and a Keeper and his sister playing Keeper for Slytherin and then something else about how the Hales are one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain.

Nothing Scott said prepares Stiles for meeting Derek Hale.

At not quite twelve, Stiles is still one of the smallest of the new first year Gryffindors. He knows his growth spurt is probably coming—his dad’s not short after all. Standing in front of Derek he feels smaller than ever. Still, he stands as tall as he can, not even flinching when the older boy _growls_.

“What _is_ that?” Stiles asks. “Because people don’t usually make that noise, not to other people.”

Someone snickers.

“Are you here to try out?” Derek ignores what Stiles has asked.

“No,” Stiles tries to say, but Scott manages to say _yes_ even louder.

Derek makes sure they all have brooms, ignoring the protests of those who say that first year students can’t play Quidditch. And a moment later, Stiles finds himself taking awkwardly to the air, trailing after Scott.

He realizes very quickly that he is completely and utterly outclassed, not to mention confused. It seems like the Slytherin team is also trying out, and that their new people will play the Gryffindor new people, which seems somewhat unfair to Stiles who doesn’t even know the rules. He finds himself facing a boy in Slytherin robes who has perfect features except for a sneer that lifts one side of his mouth.

“Mudblood,” the other boy drawls.

“Half, actually,” Stiles says. Then the Quaffle is released (and the Bludgers, which makes Stiles duck even though they’re nowhere near him) and the game is on.

For about five minutes, Stiles is pleased with his performance. He stays on the broom, he follows the Quaffle, and he isn’t hit by anything or anyone.

Ten minutes in he manages to get his fingertips on the Quaffle. He doesn’t exactly catch it and throw it, but he does manage to deflect it towards Scott, and that’s good, right? Of course when Scott lobs it at the Slytherin rings, the girl there captures it easily and tosses it back out to her snarky teammate.

Stiles _wants_ the Quaffle. That’s the point, right? Unless you’re the whassit who wants the little fluttery gold thingamajig. So Stiles flies right after the snarky perfect boy, planning to sweep the Quaffle out of his hands.

It’s a good plan. At least, it sounds good in his head, when it doesn’t involve tangled brooms or a Bludger connecting with his back in a sudden bright wash of pain that sends him tumbling from his broom.

The ground is a long way down, and the impact steals the light away.

When Stiles comes to, the first thing he sees is Derek Hale leaning down, one hand on Stiles’s chest, the sun like a halo behind his head. Derek’s brows are drawn together, furrowed over hazel eyes that look worried. As soon as Stiles meets his gaze, his expression shutters and he pulls back. “Good, you’re awake. Healer McCall is coming out to take you up to the hospital wing.”

“It’s just a bruise.” And it is, Stiles is sure of it. He broke his ribs once, jumping off the roof because he thought he could fly (funny how now he sort of can, isn’t it?) and this is nothing. He wrestles himself up to sitting, ignoring the way that Derek keeps trying to keep him lying down, and by the time Scott’s mom is there (how embarrassing is it to have the school healer be his brand new best friend’s mom?) he’s breathing more easily.

She checks over him while tryouts continue and Scott hovers nearby, trying not to look too worried. By the time everyone returns, Stiles and Scott have been thoroughly chastised, and Stiles is armed with a tin of ointment to apply twice a day to help the deep bruise heal.

Derek catches him before he leaves. “You’ve got guts,” he says. “But you can’t fly. Come back next year, you might make the team.”

From the looks others give him, Stiles gets the feeling that not many people get compliments out of Derek Hale. He nods quickly. “Next year. Got it. Learn to fly. I can do that.”

He didn’t want to play when Scott dragged him out here, but right now, Stiles will do anything to make sure he makes the team next year. He’s going to be the best Quidditch player this school has ever seen.


End file.
